Greatest Fear
by Bookworm371
Summary: Angels had always been her greatest fear. They were not sweet, nor were they cute - they were the most powerful soldiers in all creation, with blood-tipped wings and all of Heaven's fury at their command. So, she didn't really know why she kind of liked this one. A one-shot in which Meg contemplates how she found her new cause and sort of gained an angel in the process.


**This is just a one-shot I felt like writing that may or may not be made into a multi-chapter fic in the future. I hope you enjoy it! Please review at the end!**

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She hadn't always been so…mushy.

And really, compared to most other people (_people_ here, not demons), she really wasn't.

But she wasn't comparing herself to humans. She wasn't even comparing herself to demons. She was comparing herself to who she used to be. And based on that, she had gotten soft.

She liked who she had once been. Her missions, her mannerisms, her actions – they had all been straightforward; it had all been easy, it had been satisfying, and it had been _fun. _She had been tough – Hell's soldier – and a bitch, really. She had liked it. Being able to rip, and slash, and kill, and shriek, and destroy – it gave her a kind of adrenaline rush that had no equal, a confidence and an attitude that carried her through each and every day.

She had never questioned what she did, really. It was what she was, and she didn't remember anything different. She had found her cause and had served it to the best of her abilities, doing whatever she could to help it along. So what if she had gotten off on it? She was a _demon_. It was a part of her, and it always would be. It was her job, and it made her happy – it made her content.

She believed in what she had done for Azazel, and she believed in what she had done for Lucifer. She had fought a good fight for something she still considered worth fighting for. Unfortunately, their plans fell through the roof, and so she was left to pick up the pieces of her shattered armor and go find another war to fight. Regimes changed all the time, and she was pretty old – it wasn't anything new to her. She just figured that you had to deal with it and move on and keep on living. So that's what she did. She just kept on fighting and searching for her new cause.

After thousands of years of mangling and tearing and raping and screaming and laughing, her new goals underwent a dramatic shift. She wasn't running errands for great kings and generals to bring about a new age of demons anymore. She was going to bring down a king, and for that, she needed an army of sorts. So those freaking Winchesters became the new allies, and with them came a whole new set of rules. She had to be considerate of other people's _feelings_ – of _human_ _lives._ By giving herself over to the new mission, she couldn't be a demon – she had to grow a conscience. Joy.

It was kind of worth it. Sort of. She was getting closer to killing Crowley, which was the ultimate endgame, so it was semi-alright. She had to get her kicks when the brothers weren't watching, but she could deal with that. Since her goal and their goal didn't always coincide, they weren't around very much, and she could be left to her own devices. She was still a demon, just a bit less of one – a bit more faded than the rest. She didn't mind killing her own kind (most of them were Crowley's men anyway) and she was willing to put aside what she was to team up with humans. It wasn't a complicated arrangement. If anything, it was more of a "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" type of thing. Eventually, the Winchesters' goodness began slowly wear down on her, but only on occasion. She still had her fun, but this time it was for a purer cause than before. Well, she guessed it was purer. When the good guys rooted for it, it was supposed to be all clean and holy and for the greater good, wasn't it? Maybe slitting Crowley's neck would be done in the name of puppies, kittens, and rainbows, or some crap like that.

Her favorite part of teaming up with those half-wit Hunters had been their pet Angel.

Now, she knew not to mess with Angels. Not even the Winchesters knew everything about Angels, and that's how those celestial beings had wanted it. They kept their true power hidden, because it was burning and overwhelming and beyond anything anyone could ever believe. Crazy as it sounded, Meg was a firm believer in God. She didn't exactly know what she believed about him, other than that he existed, but there you have it. Her reasoning was, how else could she and the rest of the Dark Side exist if He didn't? Besides, Azazel had believed to, and the idea had petrified him. She knew, like any good little demon who did their homework (which was actually very few of them) that supposedly, any time God wanted something done – a message delivered, a population wiped off the map, someone killed, anything – he sent an angel. And they were terrifying. Their power had no equal; what the Winchesters had seen had just been parlor tricks. They had the ability to slaughter everything that went bump in the night with a snap of their fingers – the only reason they didn't was that it wasn't quite time to yet, or whatever. The tango they had all been dancing was just a show – both sides knew where the true power lay.

The angels weren't fluffy cupids or the things on the covers of Hallmark cards, and she had _never _seen one in a white dress with a gold harp. They were Warriors, with a capital _W. _They had blood-tipped wings and all of Heaven's fury at their command. They had been created to fight God's battles and guard God's people, which was a pretty intimidating thought. It was the angels had almost decimated all of Egypt. Angels had torn down city after city in a rain of fire. Angels had disguised themselves as humans and had exorcised demons for thousands of years. Angels were powerful. Angels were formidable. Angels scared the crap out of her.

And then the Winchesters just had to go and domesticate one.

When she had first met Castiel, she had been shaking inside her meatsuit. She had played off her usual confidence and smarmy attitude, but really she was hyperventilating. The Hunters hadn't been able to tell. Castiel, who could see her true form, most definitely could.

And she was pretty sure it had amused him.

Little bastard.

When she had teamed up with the brothers to take down Crowley, she had not been expecting for the Angel to still be around, but he had been. He was just as strong as he had been, and just as powerful, but so much less intimidating. It must have been those stupid husky puppy eyes or his freaking head tilt or his general bearing that practically screamed _innocence._

Well, at least, he had seemed innocent until he had started killing. Then she went back to being scared out of her meatsuit.

And when he had kissed her…

Well, that hadn't been expected.

The monster of light and goodness and terrible fury had kissed the hell out of her after she had given him little more than a peck to distract him and grab his blade. It had been terrifying and awful and beautiful and exciting and confusing and she didn't know what else. She had been kissed before. With her life and her extracurricular activities, she had been a lot more than _kissed_ before. A kiss couldn't change her. And that kiss didn't.

But of all the kisses she had ever had, that one took the cake.

There had been no immediate effect. She was a _demon_ after all, and a demon as old and as cruel as she was did not get mushy over one kiss, even if that kiss had been given by a cute angel in a trench coat who could kill her with his hands tied behind his back and his eyes closed.

But.

She noticed that she had started to go a little bit soft, and that whenever she saw him, it was kind of nice. She had seen him on the television when he had rampaged as God, and she had been more scared than she had ever been in her life, but a part of her kind of wanted to chuckle at the good little angel gone rogue. She had seen him when he had lost all memory of being an angel, and that had been kind of endearing, because when the threat of a heavenly smiting wasn't hanging over her head, she could see that he was kind of precious. "Precious" shouldn't be something that could be applied to the most powerful soldier in creation, but it kind of fit.

She shouldn't have let herself get attached.

It wasn't healthy, and it wasn't a good idea.

But it still happened.

Things led to circumstances, which led to other things –

And here she was, babysitting a comatose angel who may or may not be sweet on her but who she was pretty sure that she wouldn't mind having around more often.

She didn't know why she liked him so much. Their meetings had not been happy ones and she had been scared out of her wits for most of them. Angels were her one great fear, and every time she was near him she felt as though she were playing with fire. But he had kissed her that one time, and he had gone a little bit squishy for humans like she had, and he was kind of adorable with his gruff voice and his awkward social skills and his devotion to his own cause. Hell, maybe she just liked a guy that could kill a legion of demons without breaking a sweat. That might make her a traitor to her own kind, but it was kind of a turn on. Whatever the reason, all she knew was that it had been so gradual that she hadn't even noticed it, and then it had slammed into her like a freight train and knocked the breath out of her. It wasn't love or desire or anything like that – it was just an "I like you" and a bit of an "I'd like to take care of you" and a tiny bit of an "I'd like to be a bit more like you". Actually, she couldn't really pinpoint what it was. She just felt protective, and she didn't mind sitting with him. That was the most she could ask for, she supposed.

She was getting too gooey. She should be out slitting throats and causing madness and mayhem and setting fire to Christmas trees. But here she was, being good for Clarence, the scary angel who wasn't so scary anymore.

She didn't regret what she had done in the past. She didn't feel bad, or want to repent, or anything. She just wanted to be good for her domesticated Warrior of Heaven, so that maybe, just maybe, when he opened his eyes, he would like what he saw.

It was worth a shot, at the very least.


End file.
